


The Inn

by LivingSilver



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Geralt is lonely, Morning Sex, Smut, Some sad at the end, more smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/LivingSilver
Summary: There's an inn. The ale is good. The innkeeper is even better.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 756





	The Inn

**Author's Note:**

> My first Geralt fic <3 I haven't read the books or played the video game. Strictly show based.  
> Yes I'm stealing the "Ser" spelling from GoT because I like it.  
> Tumblrs: thristbxtch and fairiequeens

Geralt is getting tired. It's been almost 2 weeks since he left the last town, and he figures he must have taken the wrong fork in the off beaten path he was following because he's really seems to be in the middle of nowhere. There hasn't been so much as a trading post. His provisions are starting to run low. There's been hardly anything in sight to hunt. And it's rare now to find a part of the world that he hasn't been in.

So he's relieved to say the least when he spots the tops of thatched roofs and the curl of chimney smoke through the trees ahead. Night is falling. Mostly everyone has gone in so there's fewer people than usual to glare at him as he passes, and luckily there's a sign for the inn off the main road dividing the town. Gods he hopes they have decent ale.

The ale is in fact better than decent. Strong, honeyed just slightly. He would never expect to find something half so good in a dreary little place like this. He's having some roasted goat as well which is equally satisfying.

"Give my compliments to the innkeep; it's been a long time since I've had food and drink so good," he says when you come to fill his mug for the third time.

"Give them yourself," you return slyly, "you're looking at her."

Geralt raises a brow; studying you as he does so.

"Well, then you have a quality establishment here," he replies tipping his head.

"Thank you Ser," you say with a small grin, and Geralt scoffs and smiles.

"I'm no Ser," he returns simply, correcting you.

"No, but do Witchers not slay monsters as knights may?" You tease. 

"Knights slay monsters for honor and valor; Witchers slay monsters for money," he clarifies, quaffing more ale.

"Money or no," you hum, "anyone who slays monsters is a Ser to me." 

Geralt sets his mug down, tongue running out along his lip to catch a stray drop of ale.

"Will you be wanting a room for the night?" You ask before he can respond to your previous statement.

"Yes, and have a bath drawn for me."

"Of course Ser," you smirk as you walk away, and Geralt lets his gaze linger on your retreating form before turning it back to the fireplace.

When he retires to his room, the bath is waiting, warm and scented faintly of pine. He sinks into it with a sigh. Tries to focus on washing but his mind drifts, wonders if you would taste honeyed like the ale, want settling beneath his skin.

He's toweling off when you knock at his door. 

"Yes?" Geralt questions gruffly pulling open the door. Water clinging to his collarbone and the lines of his chest. Damp hair is still down, hanging freely around his face. Towel low on his hips.

"I wanted to make sure the room is to your liking," You say evenly but Geralt catches the brief flick of your gaze over him and the desire lingering at the edge of your scent.

His amber eyes weigh heavily on you. You flush hot beneath their study.

"It is," he replies neutrally, but the corners of his lips turn just so.

"Good," you return, lowering your lashes.

"Yes," he hums, resting his forearm against the doorframe next to his head, shifting closer, "If you're looking to spend the night with a knight, I would advise you to look elsewhere." He rumbles.

"Good thing I was looking to spend the night with a Witcher," you reply, raising your gaze to his. The tension palpable.

Broken by Geralt moments later, hand coming to rest beneath your chin, tipping your lips up as you both meet halfway, his mouth sure and full but still more gentle than you would expect against yours and when you both break away with pupils wide and dark, Geralt pulls you with strong hands into the room.

Boxes you in against the back of the door as soon as its shut, eagerly recapturing your mouth, seeking more to learn the taste of you as your hands move to explore carefully defined lines of muscle, solid beneath your questioning finger tips.

His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip and you open for him, both groaning at the curl of his tongue against yours, and the sound of him vibrates along the length of your spine as his hand moves to the back of your neck, licking into the delicate flavor of you--honey and spice just like he thought, better than he could have imagined.

A thick thigh slips between yours, presses promisingly against you. He moves to trace the line of your throat, stubble scraping your skin, and you shift against his thigh when his lips find the most sensitive part of your neck.

Gods, Geralt can smell how wet you are already and its driving him to the edge of reason, has him dropping to his knees and sliding up your dress after a moment of silent permission, nosing his way up your thighs until he's pressing the flat of his tongue against your soaked center and your mouth is dropping open with a wrecked kind of oh.

Drags his tongue through your folds slowly, carefully, taking his time, getting full of you and when your knees are close to giving out he simply pulls away, picks you up by the waist and slides you up the wall until you're legs are draped over his broad shoulders; holds you there, your head thudding back against the door as his tongue dips back into you, your fingers lacing through the white of his hair, groans when your fingers tighten in it and you grind against his face. Finally takes pity on you and drags his tongue up to where you need it most, licking and sucking small firm strokes, granting you your release--back curving away from the door, thighs locking deliciously around his head, if he suffocated it would be the sweetest death he could hope for, and the desperate gasps of your pleasure as you come on his lips. 

Golden eyes gleaming dangerously up at you while he continues to languidly lap at your release, sharp on his tongue. He withdraws only when you're trembling with overstimulation and places a lingering kiss against your cunt.

You finally let your legs fall from his shoulders, but he doesn't let your feet touch the floor--scoops you up instead and carries you to the bed. Deft hands undoing the laces of your dress and pressing you back against the pillows once it's gone.

Captures a nipple in his mouth while teasing two thick fingers into you.

"Fuck," he curses, finding you tighter than expected, stroking and stretching you, continues to lick and kiss your breasts until you're panting and he adds a third finger, crooks them together, watches your eyes flutter.

"Want you," you sigh lowly.

"You're sure?" Geralt returns because you're still tight just around his three fingers.

"Yes," you say, drawing him up for a kiss, fingers trailing down his chest, his stomach, then slipping into where the towel is knotted. It comes apart with little resistance.

You wrap your hand lightly around his length, testing its weight, thumbing through the fluid pearling at the tip and he rumbles a deep sigh against your mouth before positioning himself over you.

He pushes in slowly, letting you adjust to the thickness of him, both breathless by the time he's fully seated, and he pauses gritting his teeth, before giving an experimental roll of his hips. So good, you can only moan at the stretch of him, hands sliding up his shoulders, willing yourself to relax, hooking a leg around his hip and he sets an easy, unhurried pace. And when you start rocking your hips in time with his, he slips an arm around your waist, lifting you half suspended by a few inches, bringing you closer and you cling to him, hands settling in the expanse between his shoulder blades while he remains propped up on one arm like its nothing.

The change in angle sparks stars behind your eyes with every brush of the full tip of his cock against that spot within you. Geralt snaps his hips harder and the stars quickly all fade together, merging into a halo of white as you come, falling apart in his arms with a high keen, head falling back, mouth falling open, nails raking your pleasure along his back. The arm around your waist tightens as he finds his own release in the clench of your walls around him, buries his face against the crook of your neck with a low, gruff noise. Stays there for a few moments, savoring it.

He lowers you back to the bed and hands you the towel to clean what's left of him trickling down your thigh.  
  
"So that's it then?" He questions mildly when you reach for your discarded dress.

You pause, looking at him stretched out on the bed, arms folded behind his head, expression unreadable.

"You don't seem like the type to want company," you say carefully.

"We're often more than we seem," Geralt replies, tells himself that's the closest he's going to get to asking you to stay and prays you'll take the hint.

He's more relieved than he would like to admit when you move to be beneath the blanket with him, sidling in close to his large frame. He reaches over, extinguishing the candles and sleeps better than he has in a long time.

The sun isn't even up yet when he feels you stretch and stir. He rolls onto his side in his half sleep to wrap an arm around you, trapping you against him. His length hard against the curve of your ass.

"I have to get up," you protest softly.

Geralt inhales the scent of your hair and pulls you closer. He rarely has the luxury of waking up to warmth and a woman who isn't paid.

"I have to go down and start preparing for the morning meal," you continue, but you're already wet at the thought of having him within you again.

"They'll survive," he says after a long breath.

"What about having a 'quality establishment' and all of that?" You reply, teasing him.

He hums in thought, hand trailing down your side.

"You can go back to having a quality establishment when I'm done with you," voice low and promising as he brushes a knuckle through your folds, finding you soaked already.

Your breath catches as he lifts your leg, twining it with his and entering you in one, fluid thrust, fitting like a glove now after last night. Presses kisses along your neck and shoulder while he fucks you almost lazily--nice, slow, deep drags of his cock. A large hand toying with one of your breasts, and then the other. And his cock is so full, fills you so well, that familiar tingle is already starting in your spine. Just keeps fucking you like that and runs his hand down between your legs, rough fingertips rubbing careful circles against your clit and you come like that only moments later, sighing and shuddering against him and he finishes in a few, sharp thrusts.

Stays within you.

"You wouldn't happen to know of any monsters around that need slaying would you?" He asks because he wouldn't mind a few days of this. Mind wandering to another life where he isn't a Witcher and he could stay; help you run the inn and brew the ale. You could get rid of the witless stable boy who took Roach last night. He feels empty.

"No monsters around that I've heard of."

The emptiness expands. He finally rolls away from you, onto his back. Thinks of where he'll go next, but he doesn't forget. And if he happens to return every few years as his travels allow, he can at least say it's for the ale.


End file.
